|
James Joyce
it's a curious thing,' said Mr Cunningham, 'about the Jesuit Or-
der. Every other order of the Church had to be reformed at some
time or other, but the Jesuit Order was never once reformed. It
never fell away.'
is that so?' asked Mr M'Coy.
'That's a fact,' said Mr Cunningham. 'That's history.'
'Look at their church, too,' said Mr Power. 'Look at the con-
gregation they have.'
'The Jesuits cater for the upper classes,' said Mr M'Coy.
'Of course,' said Mr Power.
'Yes,' said Mr Kernan. 'That's why I have a feeling for them. It's
some of those secular priests, ignorant, bumptious —'
'They're all good men,' said Mr Cunningham, 'each in his own
way. The Irish priesthood is honoured all the world over.'
'O yes,' said Mr Power.
'Not like some of the other priesthoods on the continent,' said
Mr M'Coy, 'unworthy of the name.'
'Perhaps you're right,' said Mr Kernan, relenting.
'Of course I'm right,' said Mr. Cunningham. 'I haven't been in
the world all this time and seen most sides of it without being a
judge of character.'
The gentlemen drank again, one following another's example.
Mr Kernan seemed to be weighing something in his mind. He was
impressed. He had a high opinion of Mr Cunningham as a judge of
character and as a reader of faces. He asked for particulars.
'O, it's just a retreat, you know,' said Mr Cunningham. 'Father
Purdon is giving it. It's for businessmen, you know.'
'He won't be too hard on us, Tom,' said Mr Power persuasively.
'Father Purdon? Father Purdon?' said the invalid.
'O, you must know him, Tom,' said Mr Cunningham, stoutly.
'Fine, jolly fellow! He's a man of the world like ourselves.'
'Ah,. . . yes. I think I know him. Rather red face; tall.'
'That's the man.'
'And tell me, Martin. . . . Is he a good preacher?'
'Munno. . . . It's not exactly a sermon, you know. It's just a kind
of friendly talk, you know, in a commonsense way.'
Mr Kernan deliberated. Mr M'Coy said:
'Father Tom Burke, that was the boy!'
'O, Father Tom Burke,' said Mr Cunningham, 'that was a born
orator. Did you ever hear him, Tom?'
Grace 267
'Did I ever hear him!' said the invalid, nettled. 'Rather! I heard
him. . . .'
'And yet they say he wasn't much of a theologian,' said Mr Cun-
ningham.
is that so?' said Mr M'Coy.
'O, of course, nothing wrong, you know. Only sometimes, they
say, he didn't preach what was quite orthodox.'
'Ah! . . . he was a splendid man,' said Mr M'Coy.
'I heard him once,' Mr Kernan continued. 'I forget the subject of
his discourse now. Crofton and I were in the back of the . . . pit,
you know . . . the —'
'The body,' said Mr Cunningham.
'Yes, in the back near the door. 1 forget now what. . . . O yes, it
was on the Pope, the late Pope. I remember it well. Upon my word
it was magnificent, the style of the oratory. And his voice! God!
hadn't he a voice!
The Prisoner of the Vatican,
he called him. I
remember Crofton saying to me when we came o u t — '
'But he's an Orangeman, Crofton, isn't he?' said Mr Power.
' 'Course he is,' said Mr Kernan, 'and a damned decent Orange-
man, too. We went into Butler's in Moore Street - faith, I was genu-
inely moved, tell you the God's truth - and I remember well his
very words.
Kernan,
he said,
we worship at different altars,
he said,
but our belief is the same.
Struck me as very well put.'
'There's a good deal in that,' said Mr Power. 'There used always
be crowds of Protestants in the chapel where Father Tom was
preaching.'
'There's not much difference between us,' said Mr M'Coy. 'We
both believe in —'
He hesitated for a moment.
' . . . in the Redeemer. Only they don't believe in the Pope and in
the mother of God.'
'But, of course,' said Mr Cunningham quietly and effectively,
'our religion is
the
religion, the old, original faith.'
'Not a doubt of it,' said Mr Kernan warmly.
Mrs Kernan came to the door of the bedroom and announced:
'Here's a visitor for you!'
'Who is it?'
'Mr Fogarty.'
'O, come in! come in!'
A pale, oval face came forward into the light. The arch of its fair
268
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |
